


When The Sun Rises Don't Let It Blind Us

by FunWhileItLasts



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Auguste Lives, Damen's Broner, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Laurent can't deal with emotions, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Sass, Slow Burn, This was meant to be a nice story but I cried thinking about my plot lines so have fun guys, and is an absolute bro, courting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:46:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9292859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunWhileItLasts/pseuds/FunWhileItLasts
Summary: Damen travels to Vere for diplomatic talks, improving foreign relations and trade meetings.He didn't plan to try his hand at courting but what the hell? He's an overachiever.





	1. A Welcome and A Warning

**Author's Note:**

> So I've got a rough plan where I'm going with this and really it's just self gratifying to see Laurent grow and blossom with some TLC.  
> Rated mature for language currently. However if I don't write a sex scene for them I will have disappointed myself.
> 
> Tags will be added as appropriate.

It had been many years since Damen had stepped foot in Vere’s capitol.

The white marble steps of Arles’ palace shone in the summer heat, a blinding memory of a decade past.

Having visited when he was just twelve, Damen remembered only little of his visit to Arles. The steps and the castle hadn’t changed, neither had the crowd of courtiers standing in the colourful bottom courtyard. Banners and flowers had been laid out for his arrival. It seemed the entire Veretian court had crammed themselves into the courtyard to greet him. They held their hands up to shield their eyes from the glare of the sun as they looked over Damen astride his powerful white mare.

Though the heat of Vere was nothing compared to a summer in Ios, Damen spared a thought for the logical monstrosity that was Veretian fashion. The nobility, clothed in close-fitting jackets complete with frivolous lace and trousers of full length, had to be sweltering. In fact, Damen spied several rather portly men with unflattering sweat stains on their fine jackets.

Whilst Damen was thoroughly unimpressed by the Veretian court’s lower nobility he didn’t suppress his smile as spotted his friend, Auguste.

He was stood at the top of the marble steps with his father and the council, looking every bit the crown prince he was with the shining palace at his back.

Damen had half expected to see the younger prince, Laurent, stood with his family before he recalled a side-note in Auguste’s latest letter:

_My friend, I, along with the entire court await your arrival with much anticipation. My brother, if you have not guessed already, will be most unenthusiastic to greet you. I have spoken much of Laurent during our correspondence and, like any other older brother, have set out an abundance of compliments for his talents. You must be aware by now, through either myself or rumours that Laurent is a charming young man, possessing a wit, intelligence and wisdom far beyond his age and, dare I say it, far beyond ours. He is not known, however, for his love of strangers. For which, you and your company will be at a disadvantage if you seek to find yourself in his good graces. A piece of advice, should you care to take it, is try to see past his courtier’s persona. I am sure you can achieve a relationship with him as meaningful as ours if you can find the man beneath the cool façade._

So Damen was not surprised that the brother Auguste had spoken of with such love and respect was absent.  
He was simply happy, in that moment, to see his friend.

Having met as children, of equal age and rank, on Damen’s last visit, the two boys had swiftly become a close pair. Their combined energies had been enough to drive their handlers to their wits end, and send them to the physicians in complaint of severe headaches.

They had kept up a steady correspondence during their years apart, and when they grew to be men, their affections had only grown with them.

Damen had often found himself writing his monthly letter to Auguste and revealing far more than was appropriate, for the prince of one nation to another. Whilst they were best of friends as boys and as men, they could not be unaware of their responsibilities and duties to their country and crown. As such, Damen had kept many of his personal concerns from being transferred to parchment. His pen had gotten heavier with age.

As he dismounted he studied –hopefully wih some degree of subtly – Auguste’s fine form. Broadly built, but tall enough to remain well balance, he cut an imposing figure. A warrior prince in his prime. His golden hair shone like a beacon in the sunlight, lightened since Damen had last seen him, likely from many hours spent training outside. It looked rather soft. 

Auguste was a very impressive young man.

For a moment Damen was shocked at where his thoughts had led him. It should have come as no surprise. It was not uncommon for Damen to find certain men attractive, or to entertain the thought of extending invitations to his chambers to soldiers who had particularly impressed him.

One Patran warrior had held his own in a sparring match for ten solid minutes before he began to tire and Damen had outmanoeuvred him with a feint. That same man had held his own later that night, for six hours, before he began to tire.

In all honesty, it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Damen that his initial thought when seeing his friend was a mixture of excitement and appreciative attraction. It certainly didn’t come as a surprise when Damen’s next thought was ‘never going to happen’.

He knew that Auguste did not bed men.

So as he put on his winning smile, waiting for his personal guard to assemble around him to fend off the sweating courtiers, he shook off this onset of desire. If anything, he would take it as a sign he was well and truly ready for the feast tonight or, more specifically, what would come after.

Once his guard had taken their positions they began the ascent of the steps to the palace.

Along the stunning set of steps, flanking the King, Prince and Council, stood The King’s Guard. They lined the main entrance to the palace, in rows from the top of the stairs to the vine embossed arches that led into the entrance hall, dressed in polished armour, without a buckle out of place and staring straight ahead at full attention. Damen thought they were rather suitable companions to King Aleron, a man not known for his welcoming composure. A man whose affection, it was said, were bestowed only upon his eldest son.

Bearing this lack of levity in mind, Damen bowed his head deeply once he stood before him. He refused to meet his friend’s eye in the hopes of maintaining proper, courtly manners. This was not something he was renowned for in his own court.

“Prince Damainos of Akielos,” King Aleron announced in a booming voice. The lower nobility hushed at their King’s words. “It is a pleasure to welcome you to Arles once more.”

Damen put on his courtier’s smile. “It is my pleasure to be here, Your Majesty. I thank you for your generous invitation to host me and my company.”

Damen’s company compromised of twenty guards and a handful of ambassadorial nobles.

King Aleron did not deign to respond to Damen’s smile with one of his own. Damen fought not to squirm under his steady gaze.

“You are well acquainted with my son, so I’m told.” King Aleron stated, placing a hefty hand on Auguste’s shoulder. Despite the force Aleron subconsciously used Auguste didn’t flinch, and Damen repressed another bout of appreciation.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Damen nodded, turning to his friend. “It is good to finally see you, Your Highness.” He held out his hand and grasped Auguste’s forearm, in an Akielon gesture of greeting a friend. Auguste ignored this formality, and tugged him in for a manly embrace of knocking shoulders and firm slaps on the back.

“Likewise, Prince Damainos. I trust your journey was well?”

“In the height of summer, journeying so far is never easy.” Damen smiled jovially.

King Aleron’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

 

“Prince Damianos,” he said as firmly as he said anything. Damen wondered if he didn’t know how to use inflection. “I’m sure you are weary from your journey. I will have servants show you to your quarters.”

At his beckoning two young men came forward and bowed deeply. They remained bent until King Aleron bid them rise as he turned to walk into the castle.

Damen took but a moment before following the King to look over them. Assessing their fine features and soft-cropped hair, before he decided he could not leave Vere until he had bedded them both, preferably at the same time, and for a long time. The shortest boy had particularly bright blue eyes, that Damen had always had a soft spot for. The taller one was slightly broader about the shoulders, and his servants garb hugged his muscles so pleasantly.

Vere was filled with handsome men it seemed. He would enjoy his time here.

“I trust you remember where the Great Hall is located,” King Aleron said, and took his leave, Auguste following behind with a whisper thrown over his shoulder.

“I’ll come find you.”

The look on his face was extremely apologetic, and Damen felt very bad for his friend as he watched his retreating back.

 

The halls of the Veretian palace were opulent to a fault.

On his way to his quarters, Damen was greeted at every turn with more and more magnificent paintings, sculptures and decorations. Several paintings were rather indecent though Damen did not avert his eyes. He was well aware of the Veretian lack of modesty - Auguste himself did not hold back many of his personal desires or appreciations in their more informal correspondences.

Whereas Damen preferred the clean, cut edges and cool, open spaces of his home in Ios, the magnificence of the Veretian palace wasn’t entirely lost on him. He did admire the workmanship.

As he couldn’t help but admire the workmanship of the two men directing him through the painted halls.

They moved with flowing steps in a synchronisation that was paralleled only in the exquisite water dancers of Akielos. They moved as if their destination was the only thing that mattered, yet their eyes and pleasant smiles gave them an air of levity that had Damen begging they give him their names.

He received them with a bow of their heads. The blue-eyed man introduced himself as Avellino and the taller as Ames.

Damen had some trouble pronouncing Avellino, his strong accent forcing him to put inflection on the first syllable.

With a smile that could only be described as coy, and his bright blue eyes wide as a virgin’s, he gave Damen permission to call him whatever he pleased.

Damen laughed broadly and placed a hand on the boy’s arm so as not to offend.

“Your name is so beautiful; I will learn to pronounce it soon.”

And despite Avellino’s coy smile, a rosy blush graced his cheeks.

“The gossip in Vere is that your highness is a quick study.” Ames added, so as not to be forgotten.

“A quick study with a sword perhaps.” Damen said with a wink.

The two boys let a long, loaded moment pass between them as they turned a last corner, and Damen laughed quietly.

He dropped his hand from Avellino’s shoulder as he took in his guards, standing ready at the entrance to his quarters.

Around twenty guards had come a few days ahead of Damen, along with the ambassadors and nobles accompanying them on this visit. Damen had travelled only with his personal guard, four of which had been trailing him to his rooms at a respectful distance.

Of the nobles who had travelled to Vere ahead of Damen, indeed of all the nobles in Akielos, Nikandros of Delpha was his closest friend. He was no doubt waiting in Damen’s chambers just beyond the doors.

He bid goodbye to the boys with a farewell wish of seeing them at the feast tonight, and went to meet his friend.

 

The rooms were extremely ornate, bordering on obscene.

Of all the clashing colours and juicy, foreign fruits that lined the tables in bowls of coloured crystal, Damen found the most riveting thing in the room to not be a thing at all.

He embraced his friend unceremoniously. The familiar way Nikandros' slightly smaller body squeezed Damen before they parted reminded him how much he had missed his friend on the journey to Vere.

Having grown up together, Damen was closer to Nikandros than he was with anybody else.

This meant he knew his friend, whilst obviously happy to see him, was not truly joyful.

Damen didn’t waste time with pleasantries, inquiring directly the cause of his friend’s bad mood.

“I did not wish to believe it, Damianos.” Nikandros started, and Damen felt he had better sit down or he’d faint from whiplash.

Nikandros’ current demeanour was very different from the relaxed, easy manner from just moments before.

Nikandros remained standing, looking rather like he was only just holding himself back from pacing.

“I’ve met Crown Prince Auguste briefly, and I approve of your friendship with him. He is a noble man. But, as your friend, it falls on me to give you a warning.” He paused. “Auguste has written to you about his brother, the Prince Laurent, I suppose?”

 

“He said Laurent was a fine young man now, as capable in the arts of politics and war as a man thrice his age.” Damen said smiling. He really was excited to meet the man Auguste had raved about in every paragraph of every letter.

“Yes,” Nik nodded quickly, “I’m sure he said the sun shines out of the boy’s ass but, Damen, I warn you to stay well away. Avoid him, at all costs if you can.”

“It is not like you to speak ill of others,” Damen said, frowning.

“The Prince Laurent has the ability to twist and weave a conversation into a proverbial sword on which his conversational partner will, without a doubt, impales himself upon.” Nik ran a hand through his cropped hair. “He is a snake and not liked in this court. I warn you against being friendly; his reputation will drag yours down.”

“You listen to courtier’s gossip now?” Damen asked unbelieving; this must be a joke. “What do they suppose he’s done?”

“I don’t know why Prince Auguste enjoys his brother’s company, but from what I’ve heard not a single courtier trusts Laurent. Everybody says he is a liar.” Nikandros still looked worried, a dimple in his cheeks crumpling as he tensed his jaw. “We cannot afford to disrupt our treaty because the impertinent boy dishonours you and swords are drawn.”

“What has he lied about?” Damen laughed, reclining on the low settee. “Where he buys his thin, fine silk? Perhaps he pays people to say he’s amazing in bed.”

Nikandros shot Damen an incredulous look, picking up a green fruit and throwing it up in the air like a ball as he spoke. 

“He doesn’t take people to bed. But that’s beside the point. I asked several courtiers: what has he lied about? Yet nobody could give me specifics.”

“Then it’s gossip and we’ll pay no more attention to it,” Damen said finally.

“Wait until you meet him, Damen.” Nikandros shook his head a last time, throwing the fruit back into the bowl with precision. “Then you’ll see that rumours start with facts.”

Damen frowned at this ominous warning and went to press on but his friend cut him off.

“Now that I’ve done my part in warning you, you have to try the baths out.”

Nikandros led his friend out of the chambers, ignoring his addition of: “What do you mean he doesn’t take people to bed?”

Nikandros and Damen spoke no more of the Princes of Vere as they soaked in scented waters, attended by the gentle hands of servants. As Damen laughed at a ribald retelling of a stop on Nik’s journey to Vere at a little village with not so little women, he thought of Auguste’s last letter.

One friend had warned Damen to avoid Laurent and another had warned him not to judge him.

Whilst Damen felt that at least a modicum of Auguste’s compliments must be grounded in fact, it could be true that Nik’s worries were too. He couldn’t wait to meet the man, and decide for himself. For anybody who could gain the absolute approval of one good man and the instantaneous repulsion of another, must be quite a character indeed.


	2. An Introduction and An Insult

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy to get this up! Huge, massive, cannot-be-defined amount of thanks to @exyking for all of her amazing help with this!!! Without you, my grammar would be terrible and my character consistency gone to mush. You made writing this fun!  
> I hope everybody enjoys reading this new chapter as much as I've enjoyed working on it :)

If Damen had thought the halls and chambers of the Veretian palace were extravagant, he was bewildered by the Great Hall. 

If memory served correctly, the hall had been of Vere’s usual level of luxury, full of stone carvings painted in startling accuracy, and paintings of rich, intense colours adorning the walls and ceiling so that everywhere one looked was an eyesore.

It had been ridiculous and excessive. 

Now, it was all that, and more. 

Where once there had only been unimposing, long wooden tables, now marble dining tables ran the length of the hall, decorated in cloths of sky blue or wine red or yellows as bright as the sun, with flowers of every colour overflowing from the ornamental vases. 

Where once there had been simple banners of royal blue bearing the starburst coat of arms, or the royal colours and crest of Vere, now swaths of translucent silver silks hung from the walls and doors, stirring gently from the wind drifting in from the candle-lit balconies. 

And the people. Damen head spun, he didn’t know where to look or who to look at. They dressed as though they were trying to outdo the decorations; men and women adorned in riches from head to toe, like jewels. When they walked past the candles, or into a stray beam of the dusk’s dying sun, they lit the room with spots of blinding light, which danced along the walls. They hung from the arms of the nobility, appealing to look upon, like an accessory that tied an outfit together. 

Exotic or classical, tanned skin or ivory, wide grins or flashing smirks, there was no preference here. 

They were the Veretian’s famed pets.

Unlike Akielon pleasure slaves, Vere’s pets meant to be anything but demure. Trained in the arts of pleasure, instead of the arts of submission, they were said to be wild. Handpicked from all walks of life, they signed a contract for a number of years, travelling, living and playing with their owners.  
They were the embodiment of seduction, coy and playful instead of innocent, and obedient. 

Damen was surprised the stern King allowed what he must see as a frivolity. Perhaps it was council’s influence. 

But, then, Damen spotted a petite, quiet man of great beauty stood just behind the King’s chair.

Even the coldest man was susceptible to the desires of the flesh, Damen mused.

Stood just below the dais where the King and his council were seated, was Auguste. 

He sipped from a drink held in his hands whilst talking to his soldiers. When he threw his head back in a laugh, Damen felt a smile tugging at his lips.

He desperately wanted to go meet his friend, manners, however, dictated he greet the King first.

Stepping up the dais, he nodded to the King. He greeted the council, feigning enthusiasm for their talk of trading silks and spices. 

He made his farewells as soon as etiquette allowed and left them.

His guards had dispersed among the crowd, no doubt seeking out some entertainment.

Damen thought they had the right idea. 

First, he would find Auguste.

Shouldering through the crowd of nobles, towering above everyone, he quickly spotted Auguste’s shining blond hair.

He made his way over. Excitement fluttered in his chest, this was the first opportunity he had to approach Auguste since his arrival.

He reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder, tugging Auguste around.

Except it was not Auguste.

“Can I help you with something -” The man looked Damen up and down with a pretty, pinched face. “- Barbarian?”

The similarities were obvious: the blond hair and blue eyes, the elegant features and the noble tilt of the chin. This must be Laurent.

“Perhaps I could find you a map, or a brain.”

Auguste was handsome. He was powerful, and his strong features labelled him a commander.

Laurent wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t pretty, or gorgeous, or even beautiful. 

He was an angel. 

It was as if heaven itself had carved from the clouds the pristine white of his skin, perfection in its softness and unmarred ivory complexion. As though the gods themselves had shaped his fine, sculpted jaw, the graceful slant of his cheekbones, and dusted his high cheeks in the colour of budding roses to ensure that every mortal knew he was not one of them. He was something more, something pure and ethereal and breath-taking. Something else entirely.

How could a man so strikingly beautiful spit out such words with so thinly veiled and unabashed contempt? 

“You are not Auguste,” Damen said.

A slender eyebrow was raised impertinently, drawing Damen’s attention from sumptuous, pink lips, to his eyes. He must be a thief. He had stolen the purest sapphires of the most coveted cerulean blue and placed them in his sockets. It was the only rational explanation Damen would accept. 

Damen licked his lips almost reflexively, tightening his hold on the prince, subconsciously unwilling to let such beauty go. Leaning in he opened his mouth to introduce himself. Before he could a slender hand gripped his. Damen grinned, dumbfounded, perceiving the unexpected contact to be innocuous in it’s intent. Then, the smile was smacked off his face, by his own hand. The boy had thrown his own hand back at him.

“Congratulations, you possess eyes. We should celebrate, would another slap be sufficient?”

People were staring in silent shock.

Damen guards were attempting to push their way through the crowd.

Nikandros reached him first. 

His hand hovering at the hilt of his sword, eyes never straying from Laurent, he waited for his prince’s command.

At Damen’s dumbfounded stillness, Nikandros took a steady step forward, situating himself between the two princes. 

In Akielos no-one would have dared to lay a hand on the Prince without permission, let alone strike him. To do so would invite the full wrath of the crown upon them and shame to their household. Even a simple gesture such as the slap, performed by any highborn, would result in permanent imprisonment. Commoners could face execution for far less.

Although the insult to Damen was grave, he could not afford to forget his purpose here – he had to keep the peace.

With Nikandros stood between the two princes, sword half unsheathed and ready to subdue Laurent in a heartbeat, peace seemed an amusing notion.

The irony was that, despite having cautioned Damen of this possibility occurring that very day, Nikandros was prepared to threaten Prince Laurent for Damen’s honour. 

That could not stand. 

Nikandros’ loyalty was admirable, the reason why Damen found such a strong friend in him, but this situation did not allow for Damen’s men to uphold their ingrained Akielon training. Taught to protect the Prince against all dangers, Damen had to ensure they made an exception for a fellow prince. 

Damen could not ruin the growing trust between their nations because of a spoilt prince. Relations between their countries were strained enough, Damen could not afford to add to them. 

Laurent, for all his bite, watched Damen almost warily, like a man who had come to the end of a hunt only to discover his prey was a lion and all too willing to bite back.

Tension laced through his body, though he hadn’t spared a glance at Nikandros’ waiting sword. His attention was fixed on Damen with a uncomfortable intensity.

Damen supposed that, under the scrutiny of the entire court, Laurent was trying to save face. Damen was willing to give him that.

Then, Laurent smiled, a small, dangerous thing. Then tension bled out from his body as if a valve had been opened, as if Damen had shouted his decision to acquiesce for all of Vere to hear.

He was not as Auguste had described him. 

“Stand down, Nikandros,” Damen said. 

Nikandros hesitated.

“Be a good little barbarian, and do as you’re told,” Laurent drawled. Damen hadn’t noticed his hand had been clenched until he slowly uncurled it.

Nikandros stepped back, removing his hand from his sword, to stand at Damen’s side. The rest of Damen’s guards quickly flanked him in an informal order. Nikandros subtlety signalled at them to disperse.

A shot of blond and a moment later, Auguste was stood beside his brother.

“What happened?”

“Self-defence,” said the prince, brushing himself down. “The Akielon laid hands on me.”

Auguste’s face crumpled minutely. His lips thinned and a creased formed between his brows.

“Damianos?”

The boy’s head whipped around so fast Damen was sure he heard it crack.

“This was a misunderstanding, I’m sure,” Damen said, approaching his friend with a smile. “I mistook Prince Laurent for you. I did not mean to cause him any insult.” He gave him a gentle smile, which was met with a glare.

The prince turned his chin up, eyes narrowing dangerously. 

Damen blinked. 

Laurent turned instead to Nikandros, standing beside Damen like a well trained guard dog.

“You do not threaten to draw your blade on a prince. Wars have been started for less.” He looked at Damen slowly, as if he’d like to declare war then and there. “ Do they not teach you how to conduct yourself appropriately in your primitive country?” 

“Prince Laurent, I apologise profusely,” Damen said. “I had no intention of offending you, and Nikandros of Delpha was merely following orders. It was a simple misunderstanding.”

“Simple.” Laurent repeated. “That is correct.”

Auguste moved closer to his brother. A look passed between them, a silent conversation held in a single glance.

With a heavy sigh and a slight acquiescence of his head, Laurent’s eyes turned to flicker around the room.

“It is no matter, Prince Damianos,” he said loudly. “I accept your apology and offer my own. It is a busy celebration and mistakes are easy to make. Come.” He gave up a shocking smile, “Let us toast to your arrival and our countries’ budding friendship.”

Damen felt dizzy. He had just been casually assaulted, his closest friend and guard insulted for his intervention, and his country and etiquette slandered in the same breath by the same man who now called a toast in his honour. 

A glass was thrust into his hand and Laurent stepped up onto the dais with Auguste by his side.

“To our Akielon friends, may their visit be sweet and our friendship stay true.” 

Everybody drank. Damen looked at Auguste and Auguste looked back, his smiled strained as he tipped his head back and swallowed the entire glass in a handful of gulps.

Blinking, Damen eyes followed the line of Laurent’s throat as he sipped his own drink. His slender neck was long and elegant, though only a portion of skin was revealed by his high-necked silver jacket. It was the colour of the marble steps outside the palace, the colour of Damen’s bed linens. 

 

Auguste snagged his brother’s arm, pulling him to their seats, and the feast began. 

Nikandros stood beside him as people began to sit down.

“I am sorry, Damen,” he said.

Damen shook his head, denying the apology. “You were doing your duty. In Akielos nobody would have dared lay hands on me. You are a credit to your position.” He took care to keep annoyance from souring his tone.

Nikandros nodded. “His actions were insulting. You outrank him, you know? You could go to King Aleron and demand an official apology. You would be well within your rights.”

“I know, my friend.” Damen nudged him as they walked to their seats. “But it wouldn’t do to make an enemy out of Laurent. He’s clearly accomplished in turning things in his favour.”

“Then why does the court dislike him?”

“They don’t, Nik. You’ve listened to the opinion of a few people and took it to be the opinion of a whole population.”

“If anything it proves my point.” Nikandros insisted. “He insulted you, slapped you, and offended out nation. Then, he made everybody toast him.” He grimaced. “He is a snake, Damen. Do not allow yourself to get bitten.”

“You think I would enjoy his company after what just happened?”

“I think you’ll do anything to see Auguste during this visit, even if it means spending time with Laurent.” Nikandros’ laugh was bitter as he seated himself down on a table nearest the dais. “Also, I’m not blind. He is exactly your type.”

“Look at him, he’s everybody’s type,” Damen pointed out. “You don’t enjoy men, but you can’t deny he is prettier than any women you’ve seen.”

“Jokaste.”

Damen slapped his friend on the back, hard, looking away.

He turned to take his seat on the dais, to the left of the king.

Auguste was seated on the King’s right, Laurent beside him. 

In contrast of all of Auguste’s warmth, Laurent sat impassively, a figure cut from crystal. His eyes move steadily over the court, unblinking when met with the obtuse fashion and décor. 

Laurent himself was dressed simply. His embroidered silver jacket was fine enough to highlight his station, as well as his figure yet modest enough to detach himself from the excessive Veretain fashions. He dressed in stark contrast to the excessive fashion of the court. Unlike his brother, he was not overtly muscled, but, looking closely, Damen noticed the way the material stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, the way his black trousers sat tight across his thighs, hugging the lithe muscle pleasingly. 

As if sensing his gaze, Laurent turned that impassive regard to him. Damen raised his glass.

“Prince Damianos.” 

At his name, Damen turned around to the man who had just sat beside him.

“A pleasure to meet you, at last.”

He said politely, but with warmth. 

Due to his prestigious position on the high table Damen could only guess this man was the King’s brother.

Damen extended his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

The King’s brother smiled as if Damen had said something amusing.

“How are you enjoying Vere so far?” He asked as servants placed their first course down.

“It is a wonderful country,” He said, diplomatically. “ Though our sense of fashion is much dissimilar,” Damen joked, pulling at the hem of his chiton.

“Fashions and entertainments, I have no doubt,” the man said with a sly smile.

“Brother,” King Aleron’s voice cut across them. “I did not see you enter.”

“I arrived at the palace later than expected. I did not even spare time to scrub off the dirt from the road.”

With his trimmed, pointed beard and not a greying hair out of place, Damen didn’t think his journey had been exceptionally arduous.

“I’m glad you made it,” Aleron said, as if nothing could’ve bored him more. “We must all celebrate our friendship with Akielos.” 

Damen nodded respectfully, agreeing with the king, then he turned to the brother again.

“Where were you journeying from?”

“Fortaine, currently under Councillor Guions’ command.”

Damen and the King’s brother quickly launched into a conversation about the merits of sports amongst soldiers. Though the man hadn’t struck him as the type, he seemed very knowledgeable of Akielon wrestling.

He asked a great many questions about the strategy of the practice, that Damen thought ventured from the topic of the sport itself towards the area of militaristic discipline and tactics. He was careful to avoid saying anything that would divulge too much about the famous and highly coveted Akielon strategy, and instead deflected towards the more superficial discussion of the purpose of oiling oneself before a match.

“And Vere,” Damen asked. “What sports are practised here?”

“The man offered him a curling smile. “Nothing quite so violent, thought I daresay quite as physical.”

Damen abandoned that road of thought before it whisked him out of his depth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Akielons invading the halls were too large to ignore, in both their manners and their physical presence. The one that had threatened to draw his blade on Laurent was laughably huge, though none could compare to their prince. He remembered the strength he had felt in the hand that had seized his shoulder. Not even Auguste could boast a grip like that. 

He had wanted to do worse than throw the barbarian’s hand in his face. He had wanted to scream at him for his insolence, to hit him and strip him down with the most poisonous insults his forked tongue could conjure. 

He had felt, for a moment, utterly helpless. With such strength, Damianos could have done anything to him.

He thought what he had done was mild, in comparison to the alternative, despite Auguste’s whispered disapproval.

“That was not how I intended you to meet him.” 

“The gods have graced poultry with more wits,” Laurent had said. 

“He didn’t mean any harm, Laurent. You know that.”

“He laid hands on me.”

“He didn’t know who you were.”

“So he would’ve been willing to seduce any other man who clearly didn’t want him?” 

Laurent scoffed and walked faster. Auguste matched his pace easily.

“How did you know he was thinking of seducing you?”

“He wore the same look they all do.”

“Maybe he thought the feelings would be reciprocated?” Auguste suggested meekly. Only in Laurent’s presence would Auguste ever do something meekly.

“So it’s my fault?” Laurent asked. “You’re correct, brother. Of course. How could I have had the audacity?”

They sat down at their seats, Auguste beside their father and Laurent beside Auguste.

“Laurent, I didn’t mean it like that,” Auguste insisted, with regret colouring his tone.

“Councillor Guion, how do your sons fare? I haven’t seen them at court in a while,” Laurent said instead to the councillor seated on Laurent’s right, turning away from Auguste.

He didn’t see his brother’s frown.


	3. A Spar and A Scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So very sorry it's been so long since an update! Hopefully I can get another chapter up this coming week but the schedule is hectic.  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Beta'd by the always amazing Exyking

The feast was in full swing. 

Dancers filled the room, and bounced in time to the beat of wild strings with a jaunty step sequence.

It appeared to Damen that, like a newly favoured outfit, the manners of the early evening had been paraded about for the guests to admire, and then promptly discarded with the first sip of wine.

Courtiers left with their pets to barely concealed alcoves, and even this courtesy was abandoned after the strike of midnight. Pets were on their knees, under tables, perched on laps with trousers unlaced and skirts bunched up around soft thighs. 

It was scandalous and sinful and Damen loved it.

Even Aleron had joined the revelry, having instructed his own pet to perch on the arm of his chair. His cheeks were flushed red as deep as his wine, as the King of Vere fed the slight, young man sweetmeats. 

Damen was feeling more than inclined to participate in Vere’s unusual custom. 

He excused himself from the table, turning his back on the King’s brother’s grin.

Drifting through the crowds, he spotted quite a few of his men through shifting, sheer curtains. Each of them had a head between their thighs or legs around their waist. 

It was obvious Damen would not have a lack of volunteers upon his next trip to Arles.

Then, spotting two familiar figures in the crowd, Damen made his way over to a group of men sitting round a glass-laden table.

“Auguste!” Damen exclaimed, announcing himself. 

As the crown prince of Vere turned around with a brilliant smile, the younger prince turned to stare impassively at Damen. 

“Damen,” Auguste greeted him, standing up on slightly shaky legs and embracing Damen in a tight hug. “I wondered when you were going to finally leave the stuffy old men.”

With rosy cheeks and a loose tongue, Damen could only assume Auguste was well into his most recent glass.

“Some of us have actual ‘prince-ing’ to do.” Damen said, using the verb coined by Auguste in their correspondence. 

“Well now that that’s over, we can finally talk.” Auguste offered a seat to Damen, shuffling his men round the table to make room.

Damen took a seat and found himself unsurprisingly at ease in the Veretians’ company. The nobles that sat around the table were relaxed with liquid confidence flowing through them. He found it effortless to converse with them.

 

Young and drunken nobles were Damen’s favourite company. 

By the reverent yet straightforward way they spoke to Auguste, Damen could tell he was popular. It was obvious these men would do anything for their prince.

The friendliness of Auguste’s men was absent when conversing with Laurent, but Damen was only slightly surprised to note that they clearly held Laurent in high regard.

From the poised way he held himself, to the precise articulation of his thoughts, Laurent could not be ignored when he spoke in his clear, cutting voice the men listened.

It was also obvious that every time he drank from his water glass the men’s eyes followed the soft bob of his throat hungrily. 

Several of the men had pulled pets into their lap yet, even with sweet voices whispering dirty things in their ear, they still looked at Laurent. 

It seemed to Damen that Laurent took this in his stride, crossing his ankle over his knee to pull the fabric at his thighs tight, so that the material hugged his muscle. Laurent must have trained very hard to achieve such muscle mass with his body type. He must have spent hours outdoors with the sun filtering through his hair, throwing his face in stark shadow and causing sweat to run in rivulets down his hard body.

Damen put his cup down. He promised himself he would not pick it back up if that was where his intoxicated thoughts were leading him. He would heed Nik’s advice: avoid aggravating Laurent. 

Not long after, Laurent excused himself, walking out the hall without a backward glance.

Damen let out an unsteady breath, from the alcohol, he was sure.

Auguste placed a hand on his arm and tugged.

“So, Damen, what do you think of Vere so far?” He slurred. “We’ve put on quite a show.” Auguste winked dramatically, to the laughter of his men.

Damen was confused. Did Auguste just refer to his own brother as a show? 

He followed Auguste’s line of sight to where he found a female noble with her fingers inside a mewling pet. 

Damen looked away.

“The food is delightful, the company is delightful, and the entertainments would offend my elder countrymen.” Damen said. 

Auguste removed his hand from Damen’s shoulder, giving him a questioning look.

Laughing, Damen added, “So it is a good job we are all young.” 

Letting out a bark of amusement, Auguste nodded wildly. 

“And your reputation precedes you.” Auguste held up a hand and motioned over a servant. “Could you please find the two young men who escorted Prince Damianos to his chambers earlier?” He smiled. “I’m sure they’re waiting for him.”

As the servant left Auguste let out another burst of laughter.

Damen was by no means sheepish about such activities being announced, though it was not the Akielon way, but having another ask after a bedmate did not sit well with him.

“Come, Damen, no need to look so shy. It’s not only news of your prowess with a sword that has reached this court.”

The men around them laughed, many admiringly. 

At the approach of the servant, Damen shot back a weak rebuttal, distracted by his excitement, and turned to her.

“They are waiting for you, your highness,” she said softly, “in your chambers.”

Letting the slip of titles go, Damen stood up.

“Auguste, it’s been a wonderful feast. Please extend my gratitude to your father.”

Auguste smirked at his formality.

“Go get laid, you beast.”

Damen smiled widely, clapping a hand to Auguste’s back as he left.

Making his way through the hall was a simple task of avoid and dodge: avoid the few sober nobles clamouring for his attention, and dodge the drunks that stumbled into his path.

It took far longer than he would’ve liked to finally leave the hall, excitement pounding in his chest thinking of the two beauties waiting for him.

When he finally reached his rooms, the guards at the door of his chambers announced him loudly with a stamp on their feet. 

Upon entering his chambers, Damen was greeted with a lovely sight.

The two men, soft and pretty, were reclined on a low couch.

They had started without him.

Entwined in each other, currently oblivious to Damen’s gaze despite his guards’ announcement, one of their hands was snaking its way down the other’s bare torso, playing with the hem of his trousers. He let out a gasp as he was grinded against, and grinning, the taller one twisted the other up until he was straddling him. Light hands played across the open expanse of flesh, fresh and unmarred.

Damen struggled to remember their names. Damen struggled to remember his own name. 

The shorter one leaned forward, granting Damen an unblocked view of his, shamefully, covered ass. 

He didn’t realise he let out a soft growl until two pairs of curious eyes met his.

“Am I interrupting something?” Damen asked in a low voice.

“Not at all, your highness,” purred the smaller blue-eyed man. He didn’t move from his suggestive position over the other. “Ames and I were preparing ourselves for you.”

Damen smirked softly. 

He wandered towards the two entwined men, aware of the heady eyes on him, cataloguing the strength in his arms, across his chest. His stride slowed, letting them get their fill.

Reaching for Avellino, Damen picked him up by his thighs with ease. Immediately those long legs wrapped tightly around his waist.

Grinning, Damen sat down on the couch. He raised a hand to stroke down Ames’ body softly whilst his other hand ran nails across Avellino’s creamy thighs. He grinned at the shiver he received with such simple touches. 

Leaning forward, Damen kissed chastely at Avellino’s collarbone. He worked his way up the smooth column of his neck with sweet kisses, ending at the tender lobe of his ear. Fisting a hand in blond locks Damen pulled lightly, smiling at the ease with which Avellino followed his direction, exposing a hidden expanse of soft skin along his neck.

Damen wanted to mark it.

“I think you’re plenty prepared.” 

He bit lightly, relishing in the groan such a simple touch could receive. 

Not moving from placing soft kisses along the pale collarbone, Damen hooked a hand under Ames’ reclined body and pulled him up to kneel.

He ran a hand through Ames’ hair, wishing he could touch these two boys as much as possible, all the time, at the same time. Unfortunately, he only had one mouth.

Surprisingly, Ames attached his own mouth to the other side of Avellino’s neck. His hand twined with Damen’s, caught in Avellino’s beautiful hair, pulling his head back further.

“There’s no need to be soft with him,” Ames said.

His husky voice caught Damen’s attention, and he pulled back.

The two boys knelt in front and over him, hands caught together in Ames’ lap. Avellino’s features were softened and slack, his wet lips parted invitingly, his eyes blinking slowly shut. 

Ames ducked forward, giving Avellino’s collarbones a sharp, precise bite. He ran his tongue over the offending marked left behind and Avellino let out a soft, helpless moan. 

“He loves it,” Ames’ smirked. 

Damen let his hands trail down Avellino’s body possessively, relishing the sweet give of skin as he dragged. He stopped his descent when he came across his firm, toned ass. Giving it a sweet tap, he couldn’t help but notice Avellino’s bucking hips. Slapping harder, he knew he was it for a good first night in Vere.

 

~~~~~

 

Sweat dripped into Damen’s eyes. It was a novel feeling, having to blink away the droplets and control his breathing. His muscles strained as he raised his sword again. Striking down with decreasing strength, he found his blow was blocked with an equally weary arm. He instinctively brought his blade down vertically, blocking against a sideswipe with a sluggishness he would be ashamed of if he was facing anybody else.

Auguste took a step back, giving himself some room to breathe. His chest heaved, exhaustion bearing down on him as it did Damen. 

Damen pressed his advantage, forcing himself to move forward with all the power he could muster. He raised his sword once more, only to find it repeatedly blocked. Auguste’s defences were impenetrable. 

When he felt his arms could no longer carry the weight of his sword, and his legs were shaking, he took a step back.

“Shall we call it a draw?” He offered with forced lightness. With foreign dignitaries and Damen’s own soldiers watching him closely, he didn’t want to show them just how exhausted he truly was.

The onlookers groaned.

The men had clamoured to fit inside the training ring, everybody eager to watch their princes spar. They had fought for longer than Damen had ever thought possible, without the adrenaline of battle to push him forward. His stamina was unbeatable in Akielos, renowned. 

In Vere, he had met his match. 

Auguste was formidable and Damen was truly thankful he would never have to fight him on the battlefield. He wasn’t sure who would come out victorious, but it would have to be one hell of a fight.

Ignoring the displeasure of his men, Auguste gave Damen a breathy smile and nodded. 

They sheathed their swords at their sides and strolled over to their equipment bench. 

There, Damen accepted a cloth from a waiting servant, who gave him a shy smile, and wiped his brow.

“You said you were good, not unbeatable,” Damen laughed, when he had caught his breath.

“You’re too modest. There were plenty of openings towards the end that I would’ve been too slow to defend.” Even exhausted, Auguste’s voice managed to maintain a light tone.

“And I was too slow to attack.” Damen gave Auguste a friendly slap on the back. “You wore me down.”

Auguste smiled softly at Damen.

“Baths, then?” he suggested.

As the onlookers dispersed, Damen and Auguste made their way through the palace.

Walking through the decorated halls wasn’t so disorienting with Auguste by his side. After all, Auguste was more interesting to look at than the kaleidoscopic paintings.

They chatted amicably, trading tips on their techniques.

“If you hadn’t fallen for the feint-“ Auguste started.

“If you fought with Akielon techniques-“ 

“You’re not in Akielos, Damen.” They laughed.

Damen was more than happy to spend his entire days sparing with Auguste. His joy at his friend’s presence was not something that could be transferred onto paper.

They reached the royal baths that were reserved for the monarchy and their favoured friends. They were, of course, as magnificent as every other room in the palace. Fountains trickled down the tiled walls, all leading to the huge body of water in the middle of the room. The perfumed steam rising from the bath was so thick that Damen could not see the other side of the room.

“So then Jord said to the Patran- “

“Auguste?” A crystal clear voice cut through Auguste’s anecdote that had Damen near tears.

“Laurent!” Auguste let out a laugh. “Laurent, we’re by the entrance.”

A subtle cough alerted Damen and Auguste to two bath attendees waiting for them.

Auguste held out a wrist, too busy searching the fog for his brother to make note of the pretty boys assisting them.

Damen turned around, noting the lack of confusion on his attendee’s face as he took in the traditional Akielon clothing and set about undoing the few knots. He must have been trained for this.

With that thought, Damen ran an appreciative eye over the man. He was as pretty as everything else in the palace was and he blushed a pleasant pink colour as he noted Damen’s gaze. The thought to take the man aside before the bath crossed Damen’s mind only briefly. It wouldn’t be proper, he was sure, and he didn’t want to waste any moment with Auguste. 

He decided he would extend an invitation for that night. 

With a pretty flutter of his thick eyelashes, the young man graciously accepted Damen’s whispered offer. 

 

Turning around, pleased and excited at the promise of that evening, Damen laid eyes on Laurent.

Away from the blinding reflected lights of the Great Hall, Laurent’s hair was just a shade darker than Auguste’s. Damen would describe it as a cute and mousy blonde, if Laurent didn’t overtly exclude an aura that screamed he was anything but cute. 

Half submerged, with mist curling round his athletic abdomen like a caress, Laurent was wading his way across the bath.

He stopped just short of the steps.

“Damen and I were just sparring.” Auguste said in greeting, moving to step into the water. “Suffice to say, we were evenly matched.”

Damen followed his friend, entering the bath and moaning as the heat soaked into his worn muscles.

Seats were carved out of stone around the edge of the bath and Damen took one gratefully.

“We fought for well over half an hour.” Damen smiled. “I’d never want to get into a fight with your brother.”

“That would be smart,” Laurent said curtly. 

Water lapped at his lower stomach muscles, leaving them glistening. If Laurent stood still, Damen could easily believe he was a statue, the product of endless labour and finicky perfectionism, until the artist had created a masterpiece. 

Laurent, however, did not stand still. He turned to leave, and Damen was not upset with that view either.

“Won’t you join us, brother?” Auguste called as he sat beside Damen.

The proximity of such fine young men was not doing wonders for Damen’s self-control. He purposefully thought of the pain of Laurent’s slap from the previous evening to subdue himself. 

“I have work to do.” 

“You cannot spare a few minutes?” Damen asked. He surprised himself by speaking. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve been far too distracted with the view of Laurent stepping out the water and revealing more of his athletic figure. His ass was in keeping with the beauty of the rest of his body. Finely made, and firm.

Laurent looked over his shoulder blankly at Damen. 

“I would like to apologise again, for last night,” Damen said.

“There is no need, Prince Damianos,” Laurent said, sinking back into the water quickly. He looked at Auguste with an indefinable expression.

“Let us think no more of it.” With a gracious smile, Laurent took a seat some distance away from Damen and Auguste. “So, what do you think of Veretian swordsmanship?” 

Damen smiled. Laurent, where moments ago he was fleeing, was now engaging him.

“Please, call me Damen,” he offered, “Auguste is a fine swordsman. In fact, I’ve found no-one who is a greater match.”

“Your prowess is known even in Vere,” Laurent said. He spoke in a manner-of-fact tone and Damen found, for some reason, that he could not take his statement as a compliment. “But I’d wager Auguste’s prowess is equally renowned in Akielos.”

“Come, brother,” Auguste said lightly. “You have not seen Damen fight. He is unrelenting. I could barely catch my breath.”

“Damen found an equal in you then. You both came here panting like dogs at midday.”

Auguste looked at Damen and grinned. 

“And what did you do this morning, dear brother? No doubt something of great importance?” Auguste asked in a tone that Damen thought would make Auguste move to ruffle Laurent’s hair if he was close enough. 

“I translated a few letters.” 

“Do you translate many correspondences?” Damen inquired politely.

“Almost all,” Laurent said, “If they’re of a delicate nature His Majesty trusts me to treat it with such respect.”

“And how many languages do you know?” Damen asked.

“A few,” Laurent said in conversational Akielon. “It’s key to appreciating other country’s cultures.”

“And you’re interested in Akielon culture?” Damen responded in Akielon too, with a wide smile.

“It can be fascinating; particularly it’s militaristic and bloodthirsty history.” 

Damen’s smile dropped. 

“We do have an interesting history certainly.” Damen carefully controlled his voice. He spread his arms over the tiles behind his seat. “As does Vere, though I’m sure you’re as educated in your own history as you’re in Akielos’.”

“Of course I am.” 

An uneasy silence filled the baths. Damen saw a tugging at Laurent’s lips as he watched Damen shift uncomfortably.

Auguste interrupted in Veretian. “I’m afraid I rather lack the aptitude my brother had of picking up languages.” It was subtle, Damen noted, the way Auguste eyed Laurent. It was cautious, questioning. 

“Many of your folk tales are based on your history, correct?” Laurent asked in Akielon.

“That’s true,” Damen replied in Veretian, “It’s an easy way to teach children about their culture.”

“Such as brothers killing brothers? Akielos has a history of incestuous affairs and kidnapped princesses.” Laurent asked sweetly, smiling with his teeth. “Scandals are a fairly large part of Akielon folk tales correct?”

“Scandals are unavoidable for royalty; though very few of those tales are actually true. I find Veretian history far more interesting.” Damen said. “Your scandals have a much larger effect on society.” Damen said, somewhat unkindly. The tales behind Vere’s anti-bastard stance were often taught in Akielon as a lesson on Veretian ruthlessness. 

“And do you spend a lot of time listening to scandalous rumours, Prince Damianos?” 

“Only when they’re entertaining.”

"There were certainly some scandals arising around your activites last night," Laurent said slowly. "Whether they're entertaining or just disappointing is another matter entirely."

That smile made Damen pause. It was soft, his cheeks blushing as if by conscious demand to make the youngest, sliest prince appear serene. 

"There was nothing disappointing about my night." Damen lounged back with a smile of his own as inappropriate thoughts invaded his mind at such an inconvenient time. "And I can assure you, my partners were not disappointed either."

"No. I imagine they were thoroughly,” Laurent looked at Auguste, speaking out in Veretian, “entertained.” He said the word with such mocking disparagement that Damen felt unreasonably chastised. It was a sensation he had been familiar with as a young boy, but, as a man, it left him feeling rather uncomfortable. 

Auguste shot Damen a look so quickly he could only register it in his periphery. 

“Laurent, I think father will want that translation soon.”

Laurent blinked.

“You’re quite right. I must be going.” 

Laurent left the bath abruptly at the obvious dismissal.

A servant appeared, handing him a soft robe before Damen could have his fill of Laurent’s hard body and soft lines.

“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, as if poison sat on his tongue.

Damen sat in silence.

“I warned you that Laurent was temperamental. He appears to be in quite a mood today. I apologise if he spoke out of turn.” Auguste phrased like a question.

Damen hummed lightly. “He’s certainly as intelligent as you claimed.”

Turning bodily to Damen, Auguste looked at him seriously. 

“He’s very stressed right now with everyone so – “ Auguste caught his sentence in his throat. “It is not you, Damen. He is very pleasant when he’s relaxed.”

Damen thought on Laurent’s stiff spine, the tightly laced jackets that were modest to a fault, the way even the lapping bath water stilled around him. Damen thought Laurent could never be relaxed.

“I do wish to get to know him.” Damen assured his friend, falsely. “Perhaps at dinner tonight he will not be as stressed.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing this first chapter and hope to add the second within the week once I've checked it over.  
> Not beta'd so feel free to point out any mistakes and all helpful criticism is appreciated.  
> Thanks for reading!


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